


The Light Among The Shadow

by Marinia



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Chivalry, Criminal Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Dysfunctional Family, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fights, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Internal Conflict, Kidnapping, Loyalty, M/M, Mutual Pining, Organized Crime, Prejudice, Prince Morality | Patton Sanders, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Slow Burn, Star-crossed, They all love each other though, Underage Drinking, criminal family, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22422802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinia/pseuds/Marinia
Summary: Once upon a time, two boys fell in love- against the odds and expectations put upon them. They got to know and love one another. They softened for one another.(Eight years later, two men meet again.)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Original Character(s), Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	The Light Among The Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> this is one hell of a monster, and it's finished now!!! 
> 
> Thank you to ella, theotherella on here, for looking this over and editing, as well as helping me come up with a name!
> 
> I hope y'all like it, kudos and reviews are always lovely and will be appreciated!! If this finds enough attention, I might write a sequel with these disaster gays <3

Virgil Cavanaugh crept through narrow alleys, between figures just as shady as himself, just as armed as himself. The letter with his mission was hidden close to his chest, a royal emblem sealed in wax; he’d broken it, followed the elegant writing sending for him. 

The town he’d been called to was wealthy, mansions and gardens lining the main street alongside expensive shops selling only the most precious of goods. The poor were left unseen, the unseemly hidden away, all in favour of a perfect crowd populating the streets. 

Between those folks, stiff in their thinking and soft in their bodies, Virgil would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb. So he traversed the narrow alleys, those used by makers of cheap, fake jewellery, sellers of pale moonshine and providers of pleasure and pain. They all wore weapons under their skirts and coats. Virgil fit right in, with the daggers, swords, bows and arrows hidden between layers of black cotton, pressed together tightly enough to be armour. 

The Cavanaugh let his fingers run over the handle of an old dagger hidden in his back pocket. He stepped into a bar whose name was written in an elegant script in his letter, a bar held together by age and beams of wood against age-old stone. It was a worn-in place, Virgil would almost call it cosy. 

He sat down in a shadowed corner, waiting. He watched people come and go. When his client came- his heart stopped. 

The Prince had draped a cloak over himself, his face hidden under a hood, but he was unmistakable. Shining, embroidered silk peaked through his cloak, light blue and a beacon of his status. Virgil almost cursed him for his naivete. 

But the royal didn’t even look at him yet, instead chatting with the bartender as if they were old friends. The woman pointed in Virgil’s direction. The criminal watched his client walk towards him, sit down in front of him, letting his hood fall away- exposing his face. 

“Hi, Virge,” Patton murmured, a soft, familiar smile on his face. “It’s been a while.” 

“Yeah.” Virgil’s voice was hard, flat. It’d been years of trying to forget, years of remembering, years of wondering what had happened to his first love. 

* * *

His parents were always traveling, when Virgil grew up. From village to village, town to town, city to city, always moving, never settling or even stay long enough for Virgil to know the layout of his temporary hometown, let alone memorize the names of the streets. 

Their clothes grew rugged from it, and their frames thin. Virgil ran through his soles, and they couldn’t be replaced. He was hungry at night. His mother had little more to offer than her loving arms and a grandiose story to distract his starving mind. 

His father was gone often, looking for a way to feed them, to support them, to get them the life he wanted to give them- not that Virgil knew that. 

He just knew that his father was gone a lot, that whenever they talked his mother had deep lines of worry between her eyebrows, and a weight seemed to settle on her shoulders. He just knew that his father would gift him worn out books so his mother could teach him how to read them.

Virgil knew that most children went to school for that, that most kids had a home they never moved away from; he was always a curiosity with the other kids, able to catch their attention with nothing but his history alone. 

It was nice, talking and laughing with them. The other kids made space for him in their age-old friendships, played with him. They were friends, in an easy, childish sort of way. They accepted him in their midst. 

Until their parents heard of it, of course. Then growing friendships would be replaced with spat insults, thrown stones and, worst of all, scared, shifting eyes. 

He didn’t mind, Virgil convinced himself. Didn’t care that his family had done _something_ to make everyone hate them. His mother wouldn’t tell. It must be bad, he assumed, but didn’t know. It didn’t matter either way, he told himself. 

The only thing that mattered was the youth it erased from his parents’ faces. The way it planted the panicked gleam of the fleeing and the restless in their eyes and their movements, caused their desperation when they begged for a place at a small inn, for a job, for acceptance. All for the ever-repeating _no_ , for the ever-repeating refusal. 

It didn’t matter that they were starving, and it didn’t matter that Virgil was just a kid- they were surely just trying to trick them! It was all _they_ knew how to do, after all. 

~

When Virgil first stole, because his stomach was gaping empty and the market was filled to the brim with food- when Virgil first stole, almost driven to madness with hunger- when Virgil first stole, he was screamed at for being a rotten thief, an unruly brat, was treated like a serial criminal when his old friends would’ve gotten a hit on the fingers and be let go- 

When all that happened, his mother saw. 

His mother saw the merchant screaming at her child. And Aurelia Cavanaugh acted on her training for the first time since Virgil had been born. 

She didn’t care about the vindicated looks people sent her way as knives found their way into her hands, didn’t even care to notice them. She didn’t mind the pool of blood around what used to be a man. 

Aaron, her husband, scooped up Virgil, letting him beat his tiny fists against his chest, confused and crying and upset, before eventually pressing his crying face into his father’s shoulder, to hide from all that’d stopped making sense. He breathed in the familiar scent when his mother suddenly smelt like- like iron. 

Aurelia’s hand trembled as she took Aaron’s, to lead them back to her real home. 

It was obvious they’d never be welcome here. And a bad place to belong was better than no place at all.

~

Virgil Cavanaugh saw his aunts, a couple of a liar and a thief, carry in a Prince from a neighbouring kingdom, a boy a few years younger than he, and lock him in a cell.

He'd never seen the Prince before, only heard of him and his family. He never even thought he’d get to see him. Not here, that was for sure. On a mission, perhaps, when he was older. But not now, when he was just fourteen- just old enough to bring along his smallest cousins and niblings when delivering meals to their prisoners 

He was kind of glad the Prince was there, because it meant all the cells would be filled. That was rarely the case. And sitting through his punishment in a locked broom closet was way better than a cell. 

The Prince was an odd one, though. Usually people, and especially younger ones, were screaming and wailing, still struggling, trying to get away however they could. But the Prince was calm, he seemed almost frozen. 

~

When Virgil went to bring him his dinner, the Prince was curled up close to the lamp he’d been granted. The old blanket, usually serving as a kind of carpet, was wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

The Prince looked up when he saw someone enter. He seemed surprised to see Virgil, to see someone barely older than him. He'd probably expected to see his aunts again, as if they didn’t have better things to be doing. 

Virgil rolled his eyes, watching the royal. The plate didn’t clatter as he set it down on the ground. The earth had been trodden hard by many years of use, making it almost as hard as the wooden flooring in the rest of the farmhouse. 

Virgil kept his distance from the Prince, just to be safe. The other boy was taller than him, which could be an advantage in a fight. Even though his arms were as strong as porcelain, by the looks of it. Virgil could easily best him there. Any member of the family could. Unless they were held back by some sickness or a disability, they should be able to lift every other member of the family; an external show of support and cohesion. 

He was taken aback when the Prince spoke. 

"I'm Patton!" The boy sounded weirdly chipper. "Have you been kidnapped too?"

Virgil Cavanaugh felt the snarl overtake his features more than he actually chose it. "Don't ask dumb questions, _kid_ ," he spat, reacting to a threat the Prince hadn’t made. 

He didn’t care about the startled look on the Prince’s face, or the way he flinched back, surprised. Virgil left without another word, seemingly unphased. 

Seemingly.

~

When they returned to Aurelia’s Family, Virgil was eased into their crimes. He went with the others when they brought their hostages food. He was one of the oldest one who was still just accompanying. The others were around five and under, when he was close to turning _seven_. It was a job for younger kids and he’d hated it, because it made him feel like they didn’t take him seriously, thought he needed to be _coddled._

And still Virgil flinched back when an old man -some lord? - screamed at Mavis, while they stayed completely untouched. He spit in Mavis’s face. 

They kicked him in the guts, gripping the dagger strapped to their belt and threatening the old man with an icy voice. They were way meaner to the man than they’d ever be to Virgil- but Virgil was Family. They’d never be mean to _him._

But the old man was an outsider, and he’d been so _mean_. Virgil couldn't help but admire Mavis for their guts. They were the same age, but they’d grown up here. Virgil _wished_ he had too, had the courage to kick those who were awful to him. 

He knew his Family would teach him, the small knife on his own belt was a testament to that. He just hoped he’d catch up in time, be a worthy member of their Family. He knew he’d hurt people, when he’d get older. Just like he knew that they’d all be outsiders, which made it okay- not one outsider had ever cared for Virgil, why should he be remorseful about killing or hurting them? 

They were bad, and Virgil would hurt them as soon as his relatives declared him ready. He was kind of scared he'd do it wrong, but he knew his Family would guide him. And he wouldn’t freeze anymore, if people were mean. 

~

In the eight years since he joined his Family, his contact to outsiders had been restricted. The people outside his family that he still met… they weren’t kind, or trusting, or interested in anything but his family name. 

It didn’t really matter now, not anymore. Not when he had his Family, had an inextricable group of cousins and niblings, had a group of friends he knew would never turn on him. 

They’d often go to the nearest town and pickpocket their way through the crowds, buying themselves whatever they wanted in the markets, teasing and gently terrifying the local children to pass the time. 

When they were home, they’d beg the adults to let them assist in their missions. They all wanted to help with the bigger things, grandiose enough to be worth bragging about- make the others jealous and prove their merit, their worth to the Cavanaugh Family! They’d fight to help in big robberies and assassinations, dreaming of the hostages they could be in charge of. 

Virgil himself had managed to charm his Great Aunt Roslyn into letting him stand guard while she choked some corrupt mayor to death. He’d even knocked out the worried innkeeper! He’d hid his unconscious body just like he’d learned. Virgil had been proud of it for weeks, bragged about it even longer. 

And that’s all that outsiders were- people to steal from, to knock out. Eventually, people to kill. Always people who’d look at them funny, throw stones after them if they were brave. 

For an outsider to be- even politeness would be exceptional! This-this outright friendliness? It left him reeling, because... it didn't _fit,_ didn’t _match_ , and it _didn’t make any sense._

He was pacing and restless the whole day, thoughts and feelings mixing and whirling. It left him wrung out, confused. Haunted by a few sentences despite everything he tried to distract himself, everything he’d learned. 

He sparred with Jo, helped Fiona with the preparations for dinner, taught little Anne how to throw a punch, kept _moving_. He hoped that his thoughts would still, but it never did. 

He wanted to ask his Gram, ask Mavis, or even Roslyn, but, how could he? How could he doubt _Family_ , how could he even consider-? 

He was no _traitor!_

When he brought Patton his next meal, he stormed into the room, dagger bound to his belt, newly sharpened. 

~

They were welcomed with open arms, granted a place at the big dinner table and a warm meal. For the first time in weeks they chatted, laughed and exchanged anecdotes as they ate until their stomach was full. 

Aurelia Cavanaugh cried with relief. Her son ate to his heart's content. She leant on her sister's shoulder and her husband was accepted into the family without much arguing. It was familiar, and safe. Virgil could play with his cousins, could laugh and scream and be carefree for once. 

She did feel something close to dread when Gram approached her, small but imposing, her hair white, her back straight, her arms strong, a blacksmith’s apron still tied around her waist. 

Her Gram, who'd read her bedside stories, who taught her how to work steel, make it pliable under her hands and twist it into the form she wanted it to have. Her Gram, who’d gifted Aurelia her first blade. Her Gram, who welcomed her home with a tight hug, who'd been wondering where she'd been so long, who'd collected sets of clothing for her and her boys. 

Gram, who lifted Virgil into her lap and took a small, freshly forged dagger out of a pocket of her apron. Gram Cavanaugh, who gave it to Virgil. 

Virgil Cavanaugh, who took it without knowing what he’d accepted. Family came at a price, it always had. Came with a duty to perform. Virgil didn’t know that yet, was six and slicing the air with his new toy, movements clumsy and uncoordinated. 

Gram laughed, waving one of his cousins over, Mavis, so they could teach him with a game- a game of _Hit Me Not_. The adults shared fond laughs and old anecdotes while the children played, sparred, trained. 

The other kids were familiar with a dagger, their grip around the hilt already natural, already ideal. Aaron would argue their hits were too precise for children. 

Mavis still taught Virgil how to grip the dagger’s handle- how to slice and fight and _hurt_. The others laughed and jeered, not even noticing when they were nicked, when a few drops of blood would flow. 

Except for Virgil. When Virgil was hit, only a scrap, but enough to bleed, enough for a child to cry about- he cried. Gram sighed. 

"You've been making him soft," she scolded, leaving no time for Aurelia to respond before she called for Virgil. Gram sat the boy in her lap, quietly caring for his wound. Aurelia wanted to take him from her; she couldn't. 

Gram hummed to herself as she finished looking at the cut- it wasn’t even a true nick, really. She shook her head at her grandson’s sensibility. Still, she let the boy cry, signalling for the other kids to continue playing. It wouldn’t do for them to miss out on time they could spend playing! 

Virgil needed five more minutes to calm down. “You’ alright again, little one?” Virgil nodded, eyes still glassy, but his Gram gave him a small, fond smile, taking the arm that’d been hurt, turning it so Virgil could see the tiny cut. 

“Here, nothing but a small, lil’ nick. Makes ya wonder why you made such a ruckus in the first place!" Gram let out a breathy laugh. Virgil looked up at her with big eyes. His gram smiled, almost soft. "You're a smart kid, right?" Virgil nodded, because he was! His mother always told him so! "So, do ya think that scrap is worth crying over, little one?" 

His Gram’s voice was soft. Aurelia wanted to tear Virgil out of her arms. Aaron held her hand, squeezing it, almost painfully. They couldn’t. 

Virgil looked at the little cut, thinking long and hard about what his Gram had said. "... no?" 

"That's right! Such a smart boy my Aurelia raised! Such a smart boy, I'm sure you can judge on your own when something is worth crying over or not, right? No need to be a cry-baby, eh?" She laughed again, and Virgil smiled, giggling a bit as he watched the little cut again, arm still held in Gram’s big hand. Her skin was littered in little scars and burns, rough where she touched him, but he didn’t mind. 

Virgil didn't quite _understand_ either, but he trusted his Gram, and he didn’t want to disappoint her! "Okay,” he said, with a decided nod. 

Gram’s smile widened. "There's a good boy! Now go, give it right back to ‘em! Make me proud!" 

At that, Virgil laughed, too young to know better, hopping off his Gram’s lap, running as he rejoined his cousin. They played and laughed until he was almost falling over with exhaustion. He was covered in little cuts without one more tear having fallen. He’d fought back instead! And he’d landed a few hits too, and they’d all sat together at dinner, laughing and joking and some still bleeding, so it was all alright!

~

"What’s your _problem_?" He growled, like Mavis had taught him, cold and angry and intimidating. 

The Prince shrunk back, just as intended. It didn't satisfy him like it should. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t back down. 

"I- I just, I was just being nice!" The Prince squeaked, seeming almost offended. 

" _Why?!_ You were _taken_ by my Family; don’t you know that? Or are you too _dumb_ to notice?! You’re our captive! So, stop this- this _game_!” He stepped closer, clutching his dagger so the Prince wouldn’t see how badly his hands were shaking. “I'm not- you've no reason to act like that, so stop! Before I _make_ you."

The Prince puffed up like an enraged pigeon. "Well, I didn't know you'd be so _rude!_ And- and I don't need a reason to be nice! You- You just looked like you would be friendlier than those nasty ladies!" Patton shouted back; arms crossed. 

Virgil startled at that. “Don’t- they're _Family_. Don't insult them.” It was all he could think to say. It didn’t even bear any heat. 

“Why not? They’re kidnappers, those are always nasty...” the Prince protested, but it wasn’t… he didn’t spit his words, didn’t glare, didn’t scream. _He didn’t make sense_. 

“Well, it must’ve been a good change of pace if nothing else, right?” Virgil mirrored the Prince, crossing his arms. “So you stay light on your feet.” 

The Prince rolled his eyes, but it wasn’t malicious. “That’s what the _knights_ are for, silly! Besides, I’m super light on my feet, have you _seen_ me playing catch? I’m unbeatable!” 

Virgil nodded, slowly, swallowing the bout of resentment with a fair amount of difficulty. "Sure...," he narrowed his eyes, taking in the Prince's appearance again. The fine, expensive clothing, now dusted with filth, the light blue marred, the detailed embroidery still standing out against it. "You must have a lot of friends, don't you?" He asked. It was undercut by a curious tilt of his head, almost clinical in its curiosity. 

The Prince may look dirty now, unwashed and sweaty, but...

He was the kind of person that had an _army_ of friends. He may not look like it now, but he was like the rich merchant's children who always dressed to prove their wealth, who surrounded themselves with friends and followers alike. The Prince was just like them, and it wouldn’t do for him to forget it. Patton was just another rich brat who’d abandon him as soon as a possibility presented itself. He wasn’t _special._

The Prince just shrugged. "There's a lot of people who want to be my friend, and they like me well enough," he smiled, playing with his carpet-blanket. "But I don’t play with them too much. My mother is… she thinks that they only want my name to be attached to theirs- I still like them though!" It was exclaimed, like an apology, like it was the Prince’s fault that they’d want to leech off his fortune and his status. He didn’t make any _sense_. 

"That's still better than having kids run from you," Virgil grinned, wry. He let himself plop down across from the Prince. He crossed his legs, one knee pushed against his chest. His arms were wrapped around his legs, a line of defense against the vulnerability that came with giving up his higher vantage point. If Patton attacked him, he couldn’t take his dagger now. “Although it gets better when you start chasing them," the Cavanaugh tested, eyes gleaming with taught wilderness. 

"... I’m sorry others run from you," the Prince said, big eyes wide with what had to be pity. "You're kinda cool, when you're not busy being mean."

Virgil stopped short at that- he wasn't blushing, of course not, he wasn't at all, just like he wasn't hunching his shoulders or- or biting back stuttered words The Prince wasn’t _Family_ , he shouldn’t- 

"If you say so," he grumbled. "You're still a weirdo though." And he _was_. The Prince wasn't looking at him with disdain, or fear, or hatred. He _looked_ like those merchant’s children, but acted- not like Family, and yet he was... _good_. But it didn’t _work_ like that! 

The Prince giggled, no trace of anxiety or fear. "I already knew that, silly!" He grinned.

It was a paradox, one he yearned to solve, against all better knowledge. “Good you’re aware of it,” Virgil griped, without any heat. 

“Of course, I am!” 

“Please, it’s not that common.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” the Prince lifted his chin up, proud. 

Virgil shrugged. “You’re the Prince. Why shouldn’t they lie?” 

“Lying isn’t right,” the Prince protested, and Virgil almost laughed. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes! It’s mean!” 

“So you’d tell me the truth if I asked you for your name?” The words were out before Virgil could stop himself. 

The Prince played with the hem of the carpet-blanket, almost rubbing the edge raw. “Would you tell me yours in return?” 

He shouldn’t, he couldn’t- “Virgil. That’s. My name, I mean, it’s Virgil.” His head shrunk so far into his shoulder he almost couldn’t see the way the Prince perked up. 

“That’s a nice name.” Virgil didn’t blush. “I’m Patton.” Virgil nodded to himself, tasting the name on his tongue: sweet and soft. It fit him; Virgil decided. 

~

The Queen was a steadfast woman, bound to duty before anything else. It was a virtue she was careful to pass onto her son, one she valued deeply, saw as elemental to any good ruler. And it was her duty to serve her people, to present them with a role model and to ensure each and every one of her citizens had the means to gain wealth and power. 

She had to embody perfection- the perfect _citizen._ Which meant she had to follow her own laws, that she couldn’t make exceptions for her own sake, that she couldn’t risk her soldiers because of her own wretched recklessness. 

So she may love her son, may miss him dearly- but her duty always came first. It had to. She couldn’t risk their lives in a fool’s errand to get back her son from the Cavanaughs, couldn’t bring her attention to the attention of a crime family they knew next to nothing about. 

The Queen couldn’t risk such a thing, couldn’t risk the safety of farmers, miners and hirelings. Not if she was still young enough to find another husband, to fill the country's need for an heir with another child, as much as it may pain her. 

As much as it may tear her up inside. She was Queen. Her duty came first, before emotions, before family. It always had, and it always would. 

So the money to pay her son’s ransom stayed in the castle’s treasury, and her best guards weren’t taken from their posts to find the dastardly fiends who’d taken Patton. Knights were searching for him, but... her hope dwindled with every passing day. 

But she couldn’t bend; it’d be the first step towards breaking. 

And so the Queen remained steadfast on her throne, bound into inaction by her duty. 

~

"What do you think, when will I get back home?" Patton murmured, a few days later, a few conversations later, a few shared laughs later, into the silence of the cell. 

Time had kind of lost its meaning to Patton. He hadn’t been able to track it in the sack he'd been stuffed into during their travels to… wherever he was held, and his cell was so bare and dark- there was no window to track the rising and setting of the sun, or even watch the passing of the seasons. 

He didn’t think it’d been more than a few weeks at this point, but… Time had grown so fickle. It terrified him. 

He tried to count the times Virgil came to bring him food, tried to guess the weather by the coldness of his cell, tried to distract himself of the monotony of it all. It was no use; he lost count and he didn’t know how cold was colder than usual. It always felt like he was freezing. He missed the thick duvet in his chambers. 

Virgil shrugged. "When the Queen decides to pay up. It might take a while; she's still flooding the kingdom with her search troops." He rolled his eyes. As if she'd find them. Patton didn’t jump to his mother’s defense. He feared if she’d decide to pay up at all. 

Virgil’s brow creased with worry as he noticed the upset on Patton’s face. Had he said something wrong again? “I’m sure she'll return to her senses soon,” he tried to correct. “And you'll be brought back home. No more than a few months for sure." 

_If she pays my ransom at all_. It was a bleak thought, but… the people were most important, after all. If Patton going back would hurt them- and how long had it even been until now?! How much longer would it take? What if his mother didn’t even recognise him? If he’d grown so much, changed so much, that- and all in here? In this cold, lonely cell? 

How much longer would it take, how much more time would be _taken_ from him? He covered his mouth to silence the sob coming up, his eyes squeezing together so tightly it almost hurt. 

“Hey, hey, shhh, it's okay, you don't need to cry!" Virgil put a hand on Patton’s shoulder, watching the other boy shake his head, shake it so fast it must hurt. Virgil was awfully clumsy in his comfort, only encouraged into acting by days of talking to Pat- he wouldn’t just let Patton be sad. 

"You'll be back home soon, she'd never let the Crown Prince be kidnapped for long,” he tried to reason, “you’ll get back home soon, and you’ll forget any of this ever happened, I’m sure!”

Patton nodded, a few stray tears escaping him. 

Virgil scooted closer on the floor, sitting next to Patton instead of across. Patton used the new position to squish his face into Virgil’s shoulder. He felt the other boy’s arms wrap around him. Virgil awkwardly pet Patton’s back, and it helped. Helped him breath through the tears and the sobs and the emotions suddenly flooding him. 

Virgil stayed longer than he should, but still left too soon. He squeezed Patton closer, before letting him go. 

The door fell closed behind him, locking shut. The darkness fell over him yet again. 

Patton was alone yet again, curling up in a ball, still cold, so cold, when Virgil’s arms had been so _warm_. He counted his breaths, his inhales and his exhales, counted things he'd be happy to return to, once he was free. He didn’t let himself doubt the reality of it. 

~

Virgil had been patched up a lot in his first few months with his Family. And, even as a proper Cavanaugh, he never stayed away from their infirmary for too long. It was a natural consequence of running off without any protection, he’d later realize, the safety of being in a group ingrained in him with throwing stones and petty punches of wannabe bullies. 

The only good thing to come of his childish excursions was the way he’d be crowded between countless cousins, all teasing and nagging, telling him to go with them next time, hadn’t he learned his lesson yet? 

They shared laughs as they imagined how to take revenge on the kids who dared attack one of their own. He’d never be left alone or judged for his lapse in judgement. He could be secure in the knowledge that the other would be blamed, be seen as bad; the way he wouldn’t be seen as responsible for their hatred.   
It felt like home, talking about the other kids like they were mindless drones, nothing but a nuisance without a brain. It felt natural to plan how to steal their precious brocades, cloaks and jerkins. It felt vindicating to wear them as trophies, and even better to be praised for their ruthlessness by their guardians, not to mention the pleased looks Gram would shoot them.

Virgil hadn’t always known. But only then had he _learned_. 

When he was eight, Virgil Cavanaugh had seen a lot of dumb outsider kids get a lesson for their attempts at bullying, had seen enough of the others come home with a bloody nose or a bruised side if they happened to walk alone. But he hadn’t really understood yet, how much they needed to depend on each other, on their Family. 

Virgil got into a fight with Herbert Berkley, back then, a rich merchant’s son. He managed to fight him off at first, snarling and punching and fighting with all his might, a Cavanaugh spitting in the outsider’s face with all the revulsion he could muster. 

But Herbert was older, taller and stronger, already old enough to start courting some of the young ladies in town. He easily punched Virgil down, right in the face, making stars blur his vision, laughing ugly and loud as he kicked the fallen boy.

It infuriated Virgil- angered him so much his eyes were shining with tears. Anger that he'd gotten caught alone, anger that he was being beaten, anger that he couldn't even defend himself, and he was wheezing as he looked up at Herbert. The boy was snarling and cursing him. Virgil returned it in kind, with the little breath that hadn’t been knocked out of him.   
Herbert bored of it, eventually. He let the kid sag into himself while he turned around, not after spitting onto the earth right next to the Cavanaugh brat’s head, like he’d seen his brothers do. Daniel had been cut up so badly he still hadn’t found a woman willing to marry him, despite his skills as a carpenter, his ability to support a big family with ease. 

Virgil cringed as he saw the wet patch on the ground, not letting himself take a second longer to stand up than he needed. He cringed even more, at the pain coursing through his entire body, the way his stomach was pulsing and his vision was still spinning. 

He was used to sparring and fighting and squabbling with his cousins, but there was a line, _always_ , and always enforced. They were to help those who’d fallen up, and never kick them, never elongate their failure when they could be teaching each other how to succeed the next time. Lily had broken it once, and been put into the cell for _three_ nights. It was _important_. 

Virgil wasn’t surprised Herbert didn’t follow even so simple a rule. 

He walked back home, swaying. When Virgil saw the clearing their farm house stood on, that’d been enlarged with a great wooden barn, he took his first real breath. He snuck a look at the little Interrogation house, for those they needed information from. 

Theoretically, it was for traitors too. The latter seemed silly to Virgil- why would anyone ever want to betray the Family? It made no sense, but he didn’t voice that. It was most likely just a precaution anyway. 

Mavis was the first to see him.

They ran up to him, spotting his split lip and the bruise already forming, how he was bending over to hold his stomach, and they knew exactly what had happened. They had observed that family was the only thing that’d protect you while learning to walk, to listen, to speak. They had learned how to teach outsiders a lesson, harsh and quick and violent, by watching their cousins. 

They weren't family, after all. They wouldn't listen, couldn't be talked to. Mavis had tried that and it failed, just like most everyone, so why should they try again?

It wasn’t unsurprising that Virge took longer to learn, they supposed. He was still new. So they rolled their eyes and dragged him to the barn to be looked over. All the while they bemoaned Virgil’s ability to run into the dumbest of people. 

They got him to talk about Herbert, the utter _ass_ , the two Cavanaughs making fun of him the rest of the day, Mavis’ Uncle fixing up Virgil and chuckling at their banter.   
They were grinning and laughing at the end of it, thick as thieves. Mavis got Virgil to play a round of _Hit Me Not_ before they were called to eat dinner, and it seemed all was forgotten, if you only ignored how blue half of Virgil’s face had turned, how his lip was scabbed over, and his stomach entirely purple under his shirt.  
Until they went to sleep, everything was like normal. 

They shared a room, along with Gretta and Juliet. Mavis had pushed their bed against Virgil’s for easier cuddling and better storytelling, after Gretta had complained about them keeping her up for the sixth time, the bore. 

The few times either had been in a cell overnight, the other gave them crap over it the next day, for leaving them alone. They didn’t need to say that they both had trouble sleeping if no one was there next to them, uncontrollable anxieties running rampant.  
That night, Mavis held Virgil, still a bit taller than him, back then. The two were silent, Mavis painting patterns on Virgil’s arms, almost lulling him to sleep when he spoke, drowsy but sure.  
"We'll get revenge on that bastard, right?”  
Mavis grinned, sleepy and childish and mischievous and cunning. "I thought you'd never ask." Virgil snorted, curling closer to them, the two muttering about potential paybacks, until they fell asleep, their limbs entangled so deeply that they’d have trouble differentiating them in the morning. 

~

There were rules. 

They were so wild already, running around wild, stealing from travellers and town natives, free of any adult, as long as they don't kill anyone. It wasn’t that unreasonable for them to expect some recompense, some gratitude. 

You don't steal from family, and you never truly hurt them. You don't disrespect Family- you obey the Family's will, in all matters. You're loyal to the Family, and only to it. 

You're no burden, you contribute to the family and its business, as soon and as much as you can. Kids contribute by learning, by training, by helping with cooking and cleaning. 

If you don't, if you try to break a rule, ignore your responsibilities or the Family’s wishes, if you are Bad, then they go into the cell. A room mostly for kidnapped folks, dry but cold, with a blanket but no pillow or mattress, bereft of natural light. 

Discipline needed to be learned, after all. Obedience must be taught, after all. All the children older than seven would be sent to a cell if they misbehaved, after whoever found them misbehaving had explained to them what they’d done wrong. 

After that, they decided how long to stay in the cell on their own. They judged how much they could handle and how bad a punishment they deserved on their own. They came out on their own. 

Afterwards, they were with their favourite cousins, niblings, aunts or uncles. They’d be with the security of their family again, in a cuddle pile if they needed it, but always sure that they’d been forgiven, that they needed their family, that, without them… they were alone, and lost, and powerless. 

Virgil quickly learned how family needed to rely on one another, the shock of Mavis patting his shoulder, hugging him, teasing him against the dark loneliness of the cell. 

He never could stay in it for long, even when his aunt Roslyn gave him a lamp to fight the darkness, the lack of touch, of comfort, of anything at all always so present, so urgent and painful that he never wished to break another rule again. 

Virgil knew, of course, that it was needed, that not knowing the value of Family could easily turn people traitor, but- 

He was a rogue child, chasing, stealing, running with Mavis and the older kids. He was a good child, feeding hostages, cooking meals and forging weapons for those leaving their home’s safety. 

~

Virgil stole minutes and half hours and all the time he could afford to be with Patton, infatuated with his kindness, with his warm smile, with his mirthful eyes. His Prince was sweet and good; untouched by all the jagged edges that had cut Virgil and left scars still scabbing over.

Virgil didn't notice how he lit up, how the hard, almost cruel, turn to his features weakened, how his mother recognized her son again, how Mavis saw their best friend just waiting to be hurt again. 

Patton did notice, and… he liked the change. He liked to see Virgil grin, wry but fond, when Patton told him a pun or a joke or an anecdote. He liked to see Virgil sitting across from him, tension leaking from his body as soon as the Cavanaugh saw him. He liked to see Virgil open up, his smile growing, unabashed, confident. He liked it just as much as seeing him quiet, lazy in his trust and in his happiness, holding Patton in his arms like the Prince belonged there. 

It sure felt like it, in those moments. Like Virgil would always protect him. Like nothing could touch them. Like Patton’s love was returned by his ruffian, just as deep and earnest as his own. 

The Prince found himself an already saved damsel in Virgil’s arms, was warm and happy there, almost willing to let time pass outside their little cell indefinitely. Not that it could. The internal clock in Virgil’s mind clicked with merciless abandon. 

And when the alarm rang, when Virgil’s body found its tension again, coiled up again… He’d squeeze Patton’s hand or his shoulder in soft reassurance, would bid him a smile farewell. As if to excuse the shortness of the time they spent together. 

Once the door closed, Patton would be alone again. He would wrap his arms around himself. He’d be cold, so unbearably cold. He’d try to keep the warmth Virgil had given him inside his chest. He still froze. The temperatures and the loneliness nipped at his senses with sharp, cruel teeth. 

He counted things he missed about home, in those hours. He lined them up until the list was near endless. As Virgil grew softer, he started appearing on his list as well. Over and over again, never disappearing from his thoughts. 

He stopped counting the things he missed. Instead he did his best to sleep his days away, until Virgil came back. But as his home’s memory became hazy, as his skin lost its tan and his face lost his freckles… His sunshine smile dimmed. The light in his eyes was devoured by the darkness of the cell. 

Virgil noticed it, hated it. He wanted to stop it, to make his Prince joyful and shining again, to give him the life he _deserved._

The Queen still hadn't stopped sending her search parties. She still sat proudly on her throne, wearing a crown as if it was anything but a chain. It’d been about two to three months. She’d have to stop soon. Just not yet. Not yet, never now. Her son just had to come _home._

~

He’d learned quickly. It actually scared Aurelia, how easily Virgil took to the family life. He cursed every outsider and loved every family member, as if he’d grown up with them. He was quickly looking up to his Gram as the ultimate authority, instead of Aurelia, was running around with his cousins, learning from his aunts and uncles. 

He was still a good kid, but a hard glint started to settle in his eyes, sparkling with a joy not-quite-childish, a joy too harsh to fit the child she'd raised for six years. It matched the glinting flint residing in every proper Cavanaugh’s eyes. She watched, as her son ran off with the children possessing that very same hint of cruelty in their eyes. 

~

Mavis had noticed the change in Virgil's behaviour, and it worried them. He’d started looking like a kid again, like the little boy who’d get bruised again and again because he wouldn’t stay with his family. He’d started looking soft again, like he was just waiting for someone to use him, to take him apart and break him and hurt him- 

It worried them. Because they’d grown up with stories about the dangers of the outside, because they _knew_ how bad it could be. And Mavis knew that Virgil should know it too, better than any of them…  
But- they snarled at the mere thought- Aurelia had acted like a traitor when she raised their friend. Had tried to make excuses for them, as Virgil had told them, during a night of scheming and planning and fun. And princes, _royalty…_ they were pretty in their words. It was their entire purpose! To be charming and soft-looking. 

They showed off their weakness like it was a point of pride. Mavis knew to despise it, knew to look down on it, but their friend… 

They didn’t want to say he was slipping back again, was being twisted up, was becoming- Mavis recoiled before even thinking it. Virgil would _never_ be a traitor! But, well... he _was_ closer to it than would be comfortable. 

They just wanted the Prince to disappear, for their best friend to come back! To rob merchants with him, to kidnap local nobles, to be with their uncles and aunts when an assassination was to be done, slowly starting to learn the finer details of it- 

But he wasn’t even asking the others to go on their missions anymore. Didn’t care about anything but his _Prince_ anymore. And they would’ve been ready to let it go, to let his dumb crush fade- 

Mavis saw him, coming out of the Prince’s cell late one night, wet cheeks, red eyes and a soft smile still on his face. 

They froze, watching him close the door, whispering to the boy behind it with something like tenderness, and they ached to reach out to him, to ask him what was _wrong_. To see what that monster had done to him! 

Mavis knew what outsiders did to people like them. They broke those down to pieces they didn’t accept, to turn him into someone they’d prefer. Teared up their minds into pieces and fit it together in a pattern they liked better, after some arbitrary rule of taste they’d never even hope to understand! 

Seeing Virgil, crying and open… the royal had twisted him up! It was obvious. And it made them furious, thinking of the kid who’d followed them like a shadow, who became a Cavanaugh under their tutelage. The kid who was crying now, and not going to them for aid or protection. 

They couldn’t let him be hurt like that. It’d been planned that Mavis leave home in two days, to take out a municipal lord who’d attacked his old lover, now a nun with considerable funds. They’d been excited to take the mission on alone, to be considered so valuable. 

That night, they knocked on a door always open for the struggling. “Virgil- his Prince is twisting him, Gram.” Their voice was weak and shaking. “I saw him, and-” 

Their Gram knew, and she silenced them with a glance, leading Mavis to a collection of mismatched, precious furniture, all of it stolen from some noble or merchant who’d wronged her. “Sit, little one, and tell me everything in order. Panic gets you nothing but bruises.” But Gram was worried too, had seen Virgil become soft all over again. 

So she listened to Mavis, and when they came to an agreement, and Mavis moved to get back to her room, she patted their arm and kissed their forehead. Mavis slumped against her, relieved. 

“Be successful, little one,” her Gram muttered, holding her up, “and be cunning.” 

“I promise, Gram.” 

The old woman smiled, a soft, dimpled expression. “Good, Mavis. I’m proud of you.” 

~

Virgil was holding Patton in his arms when he _realized._ The Prince was sitting comfortably in his lap, curled up in a ball when Virgil saw it _._ The outsider was almost asleep, tracing patterns over his skin like he _belonged_ there when Virgil- 

Patton was soft in his arms, like he’d be protected there and it felt like the truth. Like they belonged together. Like- 

He had to get Patton out of here. 

Had to betray his family, Mavis and his Gram and his uncles and aunts and cousins, the people who raised him and loved him and taught him, his _Family._ Had to leave them behind and become a traitor and a villain and an _outsider_ for this sunshine boy, _his_ sunshine boy- 

Tears burned in his eyes like fire. 

He'd never be able to go back. Traitors weren't Family, they squandered that right, they were walking corpses! 

His face was wet and twisting. 

It’d be his family's job to put him in a casket, where he’d belong. He’d force- oh, he’d force Mavis to watch him die, watch him turn into a traitor. He’d leave them behind, leave them _alone-_

Patton startled when Virgil started to shake. The Cavanaugh pulled up an arm, pressing his knuckles in front of his mouth to choke off the sobs rising up. His breath was more hackling gasps. 

Patton asked him what was wrong. Patton cradled his face, in soft, painfully soft hands. Patton was there. Patton was his sunshine. Patton was worth dying for. 

Virgil shook his head. He wiped his tears away. He gifted his sunshine a small smile. "It's nothing, just... I'll get you out of here. You’ll be free soon."

The Prince wasn’t dumb, so he frowned. He knew his friend was lying, and he knew that the others, those who kidnapped him, weren’t as good as Virgil said. He knew that something _bad_ would happen to him, if Virgil helped him escape. Most of all, he knew that Virgil couldn’t sacrifice himself just so he’d get to see the sun again. 

So he kept on holding Virgil’s face in his hands, carefully, tenderly, like it was precious, because Virgil was. "Tell me, please," he whispered. "I'm no fool, you can trust me to handle it, whatever it may be." 

Virgil shook his head before he'd even finished. "I'll be a dead man, Patty," he sobbed. 

Patton almost argued that he wasn't a man, was just fourteen, was still a year and a half younger than him. That he shouldn't act like this was _his_ responsibility, but Virgil already continued, cutting him off before he could even begin. 

“And I'll save you, because you don't deserve to be here, but I'll be dead after, and I'm- I don't-" Virgil choked on a sob. He didn't want to die! He didn't want to leave his family behind. He didn't want to _choose_! 

Patton hugged him close. Virgil hid his face and his tears in his chest. "We'll wait a bit longer, okay?" He whispered, because how could he let Virgil do this? And how could he refuse, when freedom was all he ever dreamt if anymore? "We’ll see if my mother relents, then... then we can start planning, okay? I love you, Virge… Don’t leave me alone now.” _Don’t die for me._

Virgil shook in his arms, then nodded. He didn’t stop crying for a long time. 

~

Mavis told him the day of their departure- that he’d have to pack a bag for the next few weeks, that he wouldn’t have to worry about the hostage. Someone else would bring him his food that day, so Virgil had more time to pack. 

Virgil's hands shook as he obeyed. His mind fluttering through all kinds of ways to tell Patton, to sneak into his cell for one last short meeting. 

He managed to slip into the cell, catching Patton as he fell into his arms, hurried to embrace him, worry and fear twisting up his face. "I- I thought, they'd found out, and- and-" Patton’s breath hitched, his hands twisting in Virgil's arms, just to be secure in the knowledge that he was _there_.

Virgil shushed him, harried. He wanted to stay for longer, forever. "I'll go on a mission with my cousin for a few weeks. I didn't know- I’ll come back soon." 

He pressed a kiss to Patton’s forehead, a common wish farewell. The he slipped out again, leaving Patton alone and his fears rampant.

~

Mavis and Virgil were surrounded by family, before they left. Everyone patted them on the shoulder, declared their pride and their well-wishes for them, hoping they’d have a seamless kill and an easy journey. Virgil grinned, standing next to his best friend and cousin, pushing away his worry to be joyous. 

The moment was interrupted, the instance he saw his mother at the edge of the crowd. He didn’t see Aurelia often anymore. Most times, she was with her husband, his father, technically. Aunt Margaret said she earned her keep by doing some of the family’s finances, drafting letters to send to a hostage’s family. She stayed away from most gatherings, from _him._

 _V_ irgil didn't miss her, per se, but... seeing her again, it reminded him that he used to, some odd years ago. She looked at him with knowing eyes, before leaving him yet again. 

Virgil was pulled along by Mavis before he could be hurt, both of them going to travel on horseback, Virgil’s mare the same he’d learned to care for when he’d turned ten and robbed a noble lady for the first time. They’d bought her, his Raven, with the lady’s stolen jewellery. He remembered how Mavis had made fun of him for naming his horse after another animal. 

They were filling the air with their chattering now. Virgil joined in, just like before, laughing and joking with his cousin as they rode out to a world that abhorred them. 

He could trust his family, he remembered. He decidedly ignored how he himself was a counter-argument, how the truth of the statement was no longer set in stone. 

~

They travelled and rested together, just like they did as children. It became routine, after just two short weeks; a familiar cycle of training, riding and laughing at a campfire. Mavis and Virgil would hone skills still sharp, improve an ability to fight which was still immaculate, strengthen a trust that should’ve been bone deep. 

Those first two weeks, they were almost boring in their monotony. It felt almost like their old trips, when Aunt Roslyn would take the two with her on missions. They’d been so eager to help, even fighting over who got to fetch water for the horses. 

But something was off, was interrupting the camaraderie once so natural. 

Virgil stared back to where they’d come from, whenever the silence stretched for too long. He’d lay so unnaturally still in their small tent, feigning rest in a way so transparent it kept Mavis themselves from sleeping. 

Although it allowed them to hear the humming; folksongs from the Prince’s country, one that Virgil hadn’t lived in long enough to remember things as whimsical as those tunes. Just hearing them had Mavis enraged- how deeply was Virgil wrapped into that web of manipulation that Prince had spun?! 

But they couldn’t show that anger, had to disguise it- and argument would only lend the Prince’s arguments, whatever they might be, strength. And they wouldn’t let Virgil turn traitor just because they were unable to control their feelings. They’d learned better than that. 

So Mavis made an effort: they talked to Virgil about easy subjects, reminded him of the pranks they’d pull off together, even talking him into doing such a thing again! It filled the air between them with jokes and laughs at the outsider’s expanse. 

Those were easy jokes to make, when each tavern they visited hosted nothing but suspicious eyes, when most innkeepers wouldn’t give them a room if they asked for it. 

Virgil was reminded, rudely, how he learned to shoot an arrow, how to knock out a stronger opponent, how to steal from a cautious monk, all from them. Why he needed those skills in the first place. Why he’d been excited, when lessons about filleting fish turned into lessons on cutting up hostages holding back intel. 

His eyes turned hard again, flint that sparked with anger whenever they met a judging eye. 

They were almost flaming one night, when they sat in a tavern, drinking a port so weak it could be cider. The people around them watched, but didn’t attack; the stream of criminals frequenting the establishment was great enough to create a certain apathy. 

It allowed the two of them to relax, to be almost at ease as they chattered on and on. About gossip, about plans, about everything. Mavis even dared to bring up the Prince. 

Virgil tensed. “What about him?” 

“I don’t you,” Mavis shrugged. “You just seem to spend a lot of time with him. He looks-” they paused for a moment, just one- “soft.” 

Virgil snorted at that. Mavis almost flinched at the sound. They’d heard it before; it was for _Family_ , was fond. “Yeah. You know them,” he vaguely gestured at everyone outside their little circle. “Don’t know who not to trust.” 

Mavis nodded, sipping at their drink. “So it’s just, what? Seeing how far you can string him along?” Virgil grimaced, and they knew they’d misstepped. “Or just curiosity?” They tried a teasing smile. “‘How do the Others live?’, that kinda thing?” 

Virgil rolled his eyes, half-hearted. “I mean… they’re not-” he swallowed, looking around them before continuing. “Some aren’t _all_ bad.”

Mavis couldn’t hide their grimace entirely, but they tried. Virgil appreciated it. “If you think so. I just thought… I mean, with the way they all treated you and your parents, well. You’d have every right to hate their guts.” 

For almost a minute, silence reigned. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” Virgil muttered, a truth long hidden in favour of the grimmer details of his live before joining his Family. “They just- they were scared, and dumb, most of them, but... “ 

“A few still got stuck being your friend?” 

“Yeah.” Virgil’s voice was soft, like a kid’s. 

Mavis took a breath, lining up the words burning in their throat. “I see that, but Virge… they were small- you were small! You weren’t even a proper Cavanaugh yet,” they teased. Virgil chuckled. “I get that you like your Prince, that he reminds you of all that, but… I just don’t think it can last, V.” 

Virgil shrugged. “He’s done a good job accepting me so far,” he whispered. Mavis felt like they weren’t supposed to hear that. 

They took Virgil’s hand, like they would as children afraid of the dark. “But does he _know?_ About everything you learned, about everything we do?” Virgil’s silence was telling enough. “I just wonder how long that can last, unless you want to keep him in a cell forever.” 

Virgil nodded, squeezing their hand. “Of course. You’re right, Mav.” 

They grinned at that, the emotions hanging in the air falling away. “Of course, I am! Who do you think you are?” 

Virgil laughed. “Hmmm, I don’t know,” they leant his chin on his hands, “a giant know-it-all, perhaps?” 

“Hey!” 

“Or is it a gargantuan gobshite?” Virgil just managed to escape Mavis as they tried to smack him, the two teens laughing and giggling like children until they returned to their tents. 

That night, Virgil didn’t hum foreign folk songs. He didn’t sleep either. 

~

Virgil had grown up, most of his life, with the solid knowledge that it was only his Family he could rely on. He’d learned to ignore the outsiders throwing rocks and curses after him, just as he learned to steal from their parents and buy himself the sweets he’d never had access to before with that money. 

It’d been nigh overwhelming, at first: to stand in a shop with the ability to get whatever he wanted, when he was used to nothing at all. The memory of those sweets, the one he’d shared with Mavis and countless other cousins who also offered their own spoils, it taught him that their way of doing things, their crime and their stealing and their bloodshed, was needed. They couldn’t survive otherwise. 

And, seeing the people on their paths, who muttered and sneered, thinking of the ugly scar hidden by Raven’s saddle, inflicted by a man seeking revenge for a misdeed they hadn’t committed, he didn’t even desire to survive outside of his Family. 

He still loved Patton, how couldn’t he, but… imagining a life without his family, imagining a life where he’d abandoned who loved and raised him- it took the breath right out of his lungs.

~

There was a weight between them, after that conversation, but it didn’t feel malevolent. Virgil leant on Mavis’ shoulder as they roasted stolen bread and salted meat at a camp-fire. They let him, in turn pushing their mats together again, wrapping around them like ivy whenever they slept. It lulled Virgil into the land of dreams faster than any song or tune. 

Neither of them talked about the Prince sitting in a cell back home, but neither of them needed to. It was enough to be together, for Virgil to be Cavanaugh again. 

It had Mavis giddy with relief and joy, making them restless and rash in their need to express it. 

They led Virgil into an almost proper tavern one night, with good, strong port and a clientele as righteous as any royal knight. They drank and laughed and were relieved, leaning on each other as they exchanged giggled inside jokes, as they made fun of Roslyn’s fashion sense and Uncle Kenneth’s Scary Voice. 

They didn’t notice, when they said their names just too loud. 

Mavis grinned from ear to ear, betting Virgil he couldn’t fit more than fifteen grapes into his mouth, and Virgil, reckless and laughing, took them on, stuffing their mouth with fruit while struggling not to snort as Mavis made fun of them. 

They didn’t see the looks exchanged by the patrons, the way the innkeeper went to the backroom. 

Virgil managed to fit the grapes in his mouth with a triumphant noise barely getting past them, before swallowing them in hackled gulps, and demanding Mavis get him anything else to wash away the taste. But his friend was too busy giggling still, their daggers glinting out from their cloak, and Virgil threatened to stab them if they didn’t get the sour, awful taste out of his mouth Then And There. 

A man, with most of the other patrons behind him, interrupted Mavis before they could even think up a reply. “What do you think you are doing here?” he asked, voice proper and fitting his dress; a merchant, without a doubt, with all the arrogance of a noble. 

Mavis rolled their eyes, and Virgil sat back; they’d be able to handle it. But the merchant didn’t listen. When Mavis stood up, grabbing at their exposed dagger with tipsy sluggishness, the one next to the merchant snarled. Mavis didn’t react, when he punched them over the table, covering them with the port in their knocked over cups. 

Virgil jumped up in front of them, to protect them from the mob before them, to let them stand up. He punched the one who’d hurt Mavis, so hard he hit the floor. He took his dagger and attacked everyone in reach. 

Mavis and he stood back to back, at the start, but they were swaying. The men surrounding them weren’t. They were sober and armoured and looming over them, with decades worth of practice under their belt. 

They were good fighters, always careful and taught since their infancy. But a dagger against a mob was no fair fight; two children against a mob of adults was no fair fight. They lost, only managing to escape, their ears almost bleeding from the insults hurled at them.

They rode through the night, until dawn came, and they hid, caring for their wounds, for each other, before curling together on their mats and just trying not to think. 

~

Patton was alone, after Virgil left.  
He waited in the darkness. Looked at the light seeping through the crack between the door and the floor. His breath caught, every time the light was interrupted by shadows, by people walking by. He knew it’d take a while. Knew that they’d have to wait, to be alone without anyone to talk to for _weeks-_

Patton wondered, hearing the people go by, conversations muffled through the thick door keeping him locked away, if any of Virgil’s cousin would be nice to him. If they let some of their prickliness go, the same way Virgil had… it wouldn’t be the same, but it might just soothe the aching loneliness already creeping up on him. 

Just company would be fine with him, really! Anyone at all he could talk to, he would be fine with that. 

Sadly, his attempts at friendliness weren't welcomed. The little kids liked him well enough, laughing at his jokes- one little boy had even returned a pun! Patton shone like the sun when he heard it, the little guy was so sweet and smart! 

But then the boy meant to actually bring him his meals had interfered. “Don’t joke with him, Emile! He’s an _outsider_ ,” he’d hissed, watching Patton as if he’d jump his little charge any moment. 

The Prince curled into himself, trying to become one with the wall. His clothes- rags, at this point. Virgil gave them to him after his own had started to hurt at the seams. He tried not to think about the inches he’d gained, or the lankiness starting to creep into his build. 

And it wasn’t like the matching clothes endeared Emile to him. The little guy flinched back like he’d been burned. “But,” he’d whispered, “he’s not mean.” 

The other, the boy in charge, Patton’s age at most, scoffed. “That’s the worst ones, Em.” He looked at Patton like he was a vile virus. “Those are the ones who make traitors, who force us to go after our own.” 

Emile whimpered as he heard, curling into the older Cavanaugh’s side. “I don’t wanna be near him, then,” he’d muttered. “I wanna play with Dee!” 

The older boy smiled at that, messing up the other’s hair, making him swat his hands away. 

“Sure, go and run to your noble bandit, squirt.” Patton watched Emile sputter in protest, before catching the Prince’s eyes on him, and running out the door, to his friend. Patton couldn’t help but slump. 

The older boy caught it, sneering. “You won’t get us like that, not V and none of the little ones either. Not. A. Chance.” 

Patton wondered, for a moment, if he should try and convince the Cavanaugh that he had no intention to _turn_ any of them. He let it go, shrugging at the other boy. It wouldn’t work anyways. His words didn’t mean anything here. 

He missed that, about home. His old friends would always listen to him- everyone did. Patton knew that it was because of his crown, because of the jewels stitched into his clothes and the embroidered silks braided into his hair. 

But the Cavanaugh’s hatred was just as shallow, just as simple. He was still reduced to one single trait, be it royal or outsider. 

He just wished for Virgil to be back, to be _seen_ again. To run away with him, maybe not back to the castle, but just out into the world, to a place where they’d be accepted, where they could be together. 

But, as the days stretched into weeks stretched into infinity- it was easy to lose hope, to forget the quirk of Virgil’s lips when he smiled and the light in his eyes when he laughed. 

~ 

  
Aurelia watched. She watched her son starve, she watched her son become a Cavanaugh, she watched her son leave. She watched him soften again, she watched him sneak into a cell, to a Prince from a faraway land, she watched him leave once again. 

She watched the kids tell stories of the scary Prince, half siren half man, who wanted to seduce them into running just to drown them in a nearby ocean and feed on their body to satiate its hunger as it returned to its undersea kingdom- 

She stopped Dee’s tale then, pointing at the frightened children with a meaningful glance. The boy pouted. Aurelia watched their merry round, watched Emile cheer up the creative boy with a request to hear more about a particular fictional thief, one Flynn Ryder. She watched the children have their fun, with a good measure of fondness. 

Aurelia turned away, to the cells and away from the children, passing through the floors unseen. She knocked on a special door, before unlocking and opening it, seeing a former Prince who looked just like the children playing outside, bar the sick, light tint to his brown skin. 

She sat down across from him. “Hello. I’m not here because I wish to either and I have some leftover cakes. Do you wish to talk?” 

The Prince looked at her like she was crazy. She offered him a smile. He returned it. They talked. 

Aurelia liked the kid’s happy, optimistic attitude despite his dire circumstances, respected his resilience. Patton liked how she told him about the outside world, about everything he’d missed. Patton liked how she resembled Virgil. 

He knew it was rude, to only trust the woman because of her connection to Virgil, but she was nice to him, had a kind face and a soft voice. She talked to him like he was just a person, got to know him. And he got to know her, how this woman ached for her son while Virgil hadn’t even mentioned her once in all the hours they’d spent together. 

She was like his mother, in her protectiveness, in her worry, in the way she stood tall and proud no matter what. He wondered, for the first time in a while, how much his mother had to miss him. 

Aurelia hid it, her disquiet, in a familiar kind of way. Patton could only see through it because Virgil tried to hide his worry in a similar way. He hoped that his mother had someone to see through her, that her advisor would be a confidant for her. He couldn’t know, of course- not until he’d get back home, to be a royal again instead of an outsider. 

But Patton got closer to knowing, to seeing her again just three weeks later. Aurelia came to him, drawn and curt. The worry radiated off of her. “Virgil is back,” she muttered, in a hushed voice. “He’s hurt,” she added. “Terribly hurt.”

Patton shook as he heard, arms wrapping around himself. He couldn’t wait for the next day, to see Virgil for himself, to make sure he wasn’t too hurt, that he was still _alive-_

He hugged himself, yearning for it to be Virgil who held him. He counted the seconds, the minutes, waited for his friend.  
But Virgil didn't show.

~

The two of them were welcomed with cheers that turned hushed as soon as the others saw the state they were in. Mavis explained, in a hushed voice, why their faces were part blue and their stiff and covered with cloth. The lord’s body laid strapped to the back of Virgil’s horse, wrapped in bandages that contained his stench. 

Gram went to get a hold of them both, flint eyes sparking with protective anger. “Have you marked ‘em?” she hissed, cradling Virgil’s face in one hand while the other held Mavis’. 

Virgil shook his head, unable to speak. He still tasted blood on his tongue, still heard curses ringing in his ears. “We just managed to get away,” he signed. His knuckles were still bruised where he’d had to resort to punching. Some man had kicked the dagger out of his hand. He hadn’t retrieved it; it was still lost, a trophy to an outsider. “I’m sorry.” 

Mavis puffed up to protest- 

“You’ve got no blame, little one,” Gram ground out. The anger shook her voice, hackled her words. “You’ll get fixed up, both of you. And then we’ll talk about _justice_.” 

The two kids nodded, in their circle of relatives. Everyone was there, young to old, and they all wore the same expression of worried anger. Uncle Kenneth tugged them away, to the infirmary to be taken care of. 

Virgil stayed close to him and to Mavis, watching his back whenever anyone came to close. His knuckles were white in his pocket, where he still held onto a knife. This was his Family; he had to be ready to defend them, lest they be hurt again. 

He almost asked for a knife, a dagger, a bow, anything at all, to be able to defend them, protect them. He almost asked them to turn to the gardens, to train, while he still limped and had trouble looking through a bruised-shut eye. 

Neither Mavis or Kenneth even let him ask, though. They only went to the gardens because Kenneth insisted they needed sunlight; he brought them to a patch of grass near the woods, where the smaller kids were running around, playing tag and Hit Me Not, shouting with elation. They were uncaring towards the proximity of the next village- safe. 

The two teenagers sat in the shadows. Kenneth told them all about the gossip they’d missed, about his first mission, about the way that he’d been hurt too. How it got better, how it would never go away, but instead fade away, slowly. 

Virgil couldn’t speak quite yet and Mavis wouldn’t let Virgil out of their sight. But it would get better. They were safe now. 

~

Patton stewed in his fears for a week, waiting for Virgil to show up only to be disappointed time and time again. He slumped, every time someone brought in a meal, and it was either a scared child or Aurelia. He cried with frustration, the fourth time the door opened to reveal someone other than Virgil. 

He had to know what happened! To see Virgil, he _had_ to see him, to make sure he was okay, to make sure he was still alive, to make sure he hadn’t left Patton _behind-_

He begged Aurelia to let them meet, to bring Virgil to him, voice cracking and eyes leaking. Aurelia complied. Patton hugged her without a thought, weeping with relief against her chest. 

She smuggled Patton into the room she shared with her husband while Aaron’s away to help with some chore or another. The sun shone through a window, on the wooden floors and the soft bed, illuminating dust floating through the air as the great star peeked through fluffy clouds like a coy seductress. 

Patton stepped towards it like a starving man seeing food for the first time in weeks. He didn’t even register the click of the knock Aurelia closed behind her; the noise already so familiar. Patton only cared for the window, small as it was, seeing the woods surrounding the country house, the flowers blooming in their beds, the birds chirping on their branches. 

Children were running around, screaming and laughing. He tried not to be disturbed as he caught peaks of gleaming steel in their little hands. Virgil had mentioned stuff like this, games with knives and bows, all of it training in disguise. Patton had been freaked out then; he was sickened now. 

But the lock clicked, and Patton turned, almost falling, limbs shaking- 

Virgil, he looked _awful_.

There were bags under his eyes, his face still tinted blue, his posture awkward, meant to soothe his ribs and his back, the bruises blooming there. He’d covered himself completely, almost looking like a walking shadow, being draped in nothing but black.  
His eyes, when he finally looked at Patton, were hard, distrusting; flint.  
It contrasted with everything else about him. He looked untethered where he stood, the confidence that used to ground him gone. 

Patton ran towards him- was on the ground before he could blink, pinned to it by Virgil, with a merciless kind of strength. The Cavanaugh looked at him with big, owlish eyes, quickly filling with fright. His hands shook as he pulled them away, as if he’d been burned.

Patton sat up, faced Virgil faced his best friend. He saw him wring his hands, uncomfortable in his own skin. He turned to Aurelia, unwilling to even look at Patton any longer than he needed to. 

"What were you thinking? he- what if-" his hands were shaking and unsure as he signed at his mother. "He can't be trusted!" He eventually signed, urgency bleeding from his every movement. 

Patton flinched. 

Aurelia pursed her lips. Torn between concern for her son and the little Prince. "Talk to him," she muttered, turning away. The door clicked shut behind her, but didn’t lock. 

Virgil was tense as a bowstring, just a moment away from tearing into two. He couldn't look at Patton, was using all his strength to keep from grabbing one of his daggers. He’d hidden enough of them in his clothes.  
"Virge?" Patton asked, careful now, as he approached the boy who was his friend and didn't recognise anymore. Virgil turned away, biting back tears. It didn't matter. Pa- the hostage couldn't be trusted, he was- not family. 

Nothing but an outsider. It didn't matter how he _felt_. He'd felt safe too, with Mavis, and he’d been painfully wrong. He couldn’t just depend on something so flimsy. Not when he had people to rely on. 

Patton yearned to touch him. He moved into Virgil’s field of vision instead, slow and deliberate, making sure not to move suddenly. “Virge, I'm here, you can- you can trust me," he cried, unable to stop the tears from escaping him. 

Virgil's eyes widened at that- he still couldn't speak, the anxiety that'd taken up residency in the back of his chest freezing whatever he tried to say before it could even reach his throat while a lump in his throat blocked the way of any remaining words.  
But he offered Patton his hands, palms facing him, shaking but sure as he signed. "I'm sorry for making you cry... I never wanted to hurt you."

Patton nodded, unsure of how to reply, just wanting to hold him, close and tight and protective, in spite of the foot Virgil had on him. Virgil gathered his courage, offering his Prince a hand to hold. Patton did, softly, not wanting to chase him away again. 

It was almost like before, sitting on the floor and holding the other’s hand, and yet everything was different. The sun shone down on them, illuminating a new day that neither one of them had wanted. Virgil squeezed his hand, almost swaying, his walls crumbling in the face of the boy he’d come to trust, come to love.  
He opened and closed his mouth, trying to speak, trying to articulate the hot, searing burn suddenly breaking out on his skin, wanting, _needing_ , Patton’s arms around him, to ground him and take him away from the memories haunting him, of men beating and kicking and screaming, always screaming, never silent. Only growing louder if he dared to speak-

Patton, smart, wonderful Patton, understood. "You- want?"  
Virgil nodded. His arms were full of Patton halfway into the motion, the Prince holding him tenderly and sweetly, careful not to _hurt_. The Cavanaugh slumped. The tension left his shoulders and tears his eyes. He was finally home. 

They reluctantly separated, both a little bit in awe at seeing the other in the sunlight for the very first time- seeing each other in a room that wasn’t dark and dreary, that wasn’t a prison.  
And they laugh without needing a joke, sitting down on the bed without needing to talk, catching up like old friends. Virgil leant against Patton, let himself be weak, let Patton play with his hair while he worked up the courage to tell him about what happened. 

Before that, though, he was more than happy to listen to Pat ramble about the dramatic kid that snuck into his cell out of curiosity and demanded a story, and how he’d convinced him not to threaten his supposed storyteller with a knife. The two of them giggled at that, Virgil rolling his eyes as he jokingly complained about kids not knowing how to handle their weapons. 

The sun started setting quickly, shadows playing on Patton’s face, the light leaving his eyes as he watched the darkness settle over him again. Virgil’s breath caught at the sight. 

He took Patton’s hand, forcing his mind to be quiet. "Do you trust me?"  
"Of course! I'd always trust you!" Virgil wanted to kiss him, but wouldn’t. He smiled instead, pulled up the hand he held to press a kiss to the back of it. A gesture of devotion, a gesture usually shared between a knight and their liege. A gesture whose meaning they both know and refuse to acknowledge.  
"Good. Then I'll get you out of here. Now. And you won't miss the sun ever again.” 

Had he not seen the sun again for the first time in months just a second ago, had he not felt its rays upon his skin, Patton would have protested, but- he had, and he nodded.  
Virgil smiled, cherishing the tenderness he could treat Patton with for another moment, before exhaling, letting the calm and the rest fall off his shoulders to be replaced with familiar rocks of responsibility and fear.  
His eyes hardened, become flint again. Patton almost flinched back, but... he trusted Virgil, even as he gripped his wrist, hard and unforgiving, but not bruising. "Don't put up a fight," he murmured, before opening the door. 

~

Mavis looked up, bewildered, when they saw Virgil dragging the little Prince along, his teeth clenched, almost bared, a snarl on the tip of his tongue. The royal had curled into himself, like a defensive mouse hoping for mercy from a cat. His eyes darted around, his hands fidgeting, not even trying to put up a fight. 

They frowned, trying to discern the look on Virgil’s face. Mavis had no issue toying with outsiders, but when their friend was still bruised, almost broken- 

“What did he do?” they asked, nodding towards the hostage without looking at him. He still cowered away, the little mouse. 

Virgil shrugged. It was deceptively casual, an obvious lie. He toyed with a knife, dangerously close to the Prince’s throat; it bobbed with suppressed whimpers. "The Prince thought he could be smart to me," he said, flat and thirsting for blood. “So why not make sure he never does it again? Not like his mom is gonna pay up anytime soon.” 

Mavis grinned, relieved and close to crying with pride. “Oh really? Do you want help with that- I’d love to strangle the little guy with his pretty hair.” The threat came over their lips like honey, the Prince shaking like a leaf. 

Virgil shook his head. “No, this is mine- I’ll be back soon, and he’ll never take up any of our space ever. Again.”  
Mavis grinned. "Don't leave any proof."  
Virgil snorted, they allowed it. "You know I won't."

They got out of the farm house, some of the kids still playing waving to them. They’d seen people be taken away like this before. It was rare, but they always liked to guess what the hostage in question had done. 

The kids gasped when Virgil pushed Patton after he stumbled, not seeing the Cavanaugh hold him up so it wouldn’t happen again. They didn’t see how careful Virgil was, to not leave a single bruise, to hurt as little as possible, to only dim his sunshine’s light as much as was necessary. They disappeared into the woods, to the part of it that was dark and deep and lonely.

Patton was afraid, but he trusted Virgil. He feared more for his friend’s family finding out and coming after them, rather than being hurt by him. 

And yet he was relieved when Virgil let him go, his knife clattering to the forest floor as his touch turn gentle again, his voice soft again. "You- are you alright? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, but that was the only way- are you sure you're not hurt, did I grab you too hard-"  
"It's okay, it's okay, it's over-" and Patton spoke the truth. 

Virgil’s Prince was smiling at him, wonky but earnest. The darkness was descending upon the woods, the stars shining above them and the moon glowing like a beacon. Patton was free. He was finally free.  
And he wanted to calm Virgil more than anything, reassure him and thank him and comfort him- but he was free! He cried, wept, his legs giving out. He touched the earth, the soil filled with life, and he was so relieved, his chest heaving with his sobs.  
He pulled Virgil into his arms, held him close and he was so happy it almost hurt. "Le-let's go, you said there was a village near here, right?"  
Virgil smiled, small and loving and mourning. "Yeah. You just need to walk for about half an hour, that way," he indicated, watching the happiness on Patton’s face, committing it to memory.  
"Well, what are you waiting for, let's go!"  
"You think they'll trust a Cavanaugh?" Virgil almost snorted, but it turned bitter in his throat before he could. "Go without me, Pat.” 

"But-but you have to come with me! What's gonna happen when they find out I'm alive? What- Who knows what they'll do to you?!"  
"I'll tell them you escaped-"  
"So they start looking for me again?"  
"They won’t, I’ll stop them-”  
"It won't be enough! Not to save us both!"  
"Well, you deserve your life back!"  
"You deserve to get one!"  
"Don't-" Virgil took a breath, almost screaming, almost shouting, almost crying. “I have a life here! And I won’t- I _can’t_ sacrifice that for you.” He continued before Patton could interrupt him. "There’s nothing for me out there, nothing that I _want-_ and even if I did,” he snorted, “no one would ever accept me.” 

Patton knew he had a point, and he hated it. "They would, if they knew you," he protested, taking Virgil's hand again.  
Virgil shrugged. He didn’t want them to know him. He didn’t want them to be anything but clients and targets. He didn’t want to change himself, to become an outsider himself.  
"But what if you pretend you escaped with me?” The words almost tripped on their way out of Patton’s mouth. “That you were another captive? We- we'll hide your face, somehow, and-"  
"And what? I'll come to the palace with you? Leave behind everything I know to eat canapés and become some noble sycophant?"  
"It wouldn’t be like that! If you wanted to you could- You could come with me. Be my friend.” Patton squeezed his hand. He was soft, shining in the moonlight like an angel.  
Virgil felt the lump in his throat, because he used to. Oh, he’d been ready to leave it all behind. How foolish had he been? He shook his head. "It's not possible."  
"It could be!"

Virgil smiled, tortured, but he smiled, and looked at Patton with something between love and resignation. This boy was a Prince, able to be soft and sweet. How could he trust his Prince to protect him, when he was unable to hurt a fly? “And if I don’t want it? If I want to stay, if I want to be with my family, with my loved ones” _with those I can rely on,_ “- they’re my safety, Patton. I can’t- I love you, but I can’t… I need them, Patty.” 

“Oh.” Patton cradled Virgil’s face with one of his hands, wiping away his tears from his bruised skin. “Okay. Then- I’ll leave, and I remember you, and if you ever- I’ll always be there for you, Virge.” 

The Cavanaugh smiled; his eyes soft as a child’s. “Me too. Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye.” Patton’s voice cracked. 

They hugged, one last time, as tightly as they could. 

And then they parted ways. Patton returned to the village, to the others, to being a royal. He returned to his mother and to feather beds and canapés and everyone hanging onto his lips. He returned to sunshine. 

Virgil returned to his home, to Mavis and Gram, to hugs and daggers and murders, to sweets bought from stolen goods and teaching his niblings how to rob a merchant. He became a Cavanaugh for good. 

* * *

Eight years later, the two men sat in a shady bar, across from each other and a distance between them that wasn’t entirely spatial. 

“There’s someone- I think that they’re planning a coup,” Patton murmured. “I can’t stop them on my own, or even investigate without everyone noticing-” 

The Cavanaugh leant back in his chair, an easy smirk on his face. “So, you want me to do it.” He laughed, breathy and low. “Not every day that I protect a royal.” 

Patton smiled as he heard that, playing with his hands, with his golden signet ring. It was such an obvious show of his status, more than a little reckless. “

So, you’re interested? In helping?” Patton’s voice shook. He couldn’t hide his nerves; Virgil had changed so much, grown tall and broad where Patton was chubby and small. Silver riddled his skin and shone like little stars; black ink marred his wrists. He looked just like the women who’d taken Patton, all those years ago. And yet… he wanted to trust him. 

Virgil nodded. He couldn’t bear to look at his Prince for too long, at the brown skin that shone like bronze, at the soft fingers and the subtle jewels adorning them. The boy he used to know had turned into a veritable Prince. “I’ll help you. For a price.” 

He grinned, teeth catching at the silver ring piercing his lip. He could only hope that the appearance still fooled the eye, that Patton was still good. “And if you need it, I’ll protect you for free.” 

A blush coloured Patton’s cheek. “So, you’re charming now?” he teased. 

Virgil shrugged, leaning forward. He looked Patton up and down, taking in the light blue silk and the braided hair. “What, you deserve it.” 

Patton giggled, a dreadfully open show of affection for a royal. "You’re a trickster Virgil." He took a deep breath, before pulling off his ring, playing with it for a moment before speaking again. “But I’ll trust you. Can you do the same?" 

He offered his Cavanaugh the signet ring, gold shining, not matching Virgil's silver. A blue gem sat at the top, filling out the crest, the great bear signifying the strength of both their land and the family ruling it. 

Virgil looked at it, the precious ring meant for nobles and courtesans. When he reached out for it, it was slowly, hesitantly, as if Patton would flinch away if he moved too fast. 

The ring was warm on his finger, fit him perfectly. "You better not make me regret this," he grumbled. The Prince looked much too smug, too scheming. 

"Never." Patton reached for the hand now storied with his ring. His smile was familiar now, looking at his darling criminal. Virgil let him take his calloused hand. 

Silence hung between them, heavy with meaning, with words unsaid. With a history unshared. 

Virgil cleared his throat, chasing away the sentiment threatening to push up his throat. "So, you've got a traitor in your midst?" 

"Yup," Patton sighed. "And whoever they are… they want to rule- they want the crown given to us, our titles and our power.”

Virgil nodded; a smile full of mischief stealing its way onto his face. "Let's make sure you keep your crown then, my Prince." 

He raised his glass, filled with port; it clanked against Patton's cider. The Prince smiled. They drank. The Cavanaugh and the Prince were together again, reunited at last. 

  
  



End file.
